<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>The Onigiri Story by misCOWculation</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29978334">The Onigiri Story</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/misCOWculation/pseuds/misCOWculation'>misCOWculation</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Adulthood, Blogging, Business, Car Accidents, Closeted Character, Corporate Espionage, Eating, F/M, Fluff, Food, Food Critic, Food Metaphors, Food Poisoning, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Grumpy Old Men, Haikyuu!! Manga Spoilers, Humor, Idiots in Love, M/M, Miya Osamu Needs a Hug, Multi, News Media, No Angst, Polyamory Negotiations, Post-High School, Pre-Time Skip, Pro Volleyball Player Miya Atsumu, Pro Volleyball Player Sakusa Kiyoomi, Rare Pairings, Rating May Change, Restaurants, Rivalry, Romance, Salty Shirabu Kenjirou, Sharing a Bed, Sibling Love, Slice of Life, Young Love, Yum, inspired by Oishinbo</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 17:01:22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,303</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29978334</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/misCOWculation/pseuds/misCOWculation</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When Shirofuku Yukie gets into an accident with Miya Osamu, she is recruited as his taste tester for his up-and-coming restaurant: Onigiri Miya. With the help of their friends, they try to navigate life and the highs and lows of running a business together. But what happens when the nefarious Chef Wasabi threatens to put them out of business? Will they sink or swim? </p><p>Featuring: Yukie/Osamu, SakuAtsu, BokuAka, and more.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Miya Atsumu &amp; Miya Osamu, Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi, Miya Osamu/Shirofuku Yukie, Miya Osamu/Shirofuku Yukie/Shirabu Kenjirou</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. A Chance Encounter</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Cinnamon sprinkles rained upon her lap as she took a bite out of her jumbo-sized doughnut. One hand resting on the wheel and the other clutching her sugary snack, Shirofuku Yukie waited for the traffic light to signal green, her small car humming. The doughnut would hold her until dinner—she almost salivated at the thought of it; her roommate, Suzumeda Kaori, had promised to treat her to a meal at a the local barbecue shop.</p><p>The light was taking an unusually long time. So Yukie unlocked her phone—the screen was covered with doughnut dust—and began to edit her latest restaurant review, which she would post on her blog later today. It had begun as a hobby of sorts, spawned from her interest in food and the excitement of moving to a brand new city with only her best friend from high school and a single suitcase. Osaka was just so <em>different</em> from Tokyo—it had taken her a bit of time to fully grasp the slang and the local lingo but she had it down pat by now.</p><p>Today was the beginning of the spring semester—her first day of school. She had packed most of her classes into the first few days—Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday—leaving her with the rest of the week off to study and visit and judge restaurants.</p><p>It being the first day of the first week of school, the day had consisted of laid-back lectures and re-introductions.</p><p>On her way home, Yukie relaxed in her seat, turning up the radio.</p><p>She was just finishing her doughnut when the light turned green. Languid, she sucked the sugar off her fingers, her foot gently pressing down on the accelerator. A horn sounded from behind. In the rear-view mirror, Yukie rolled her eyes. People were so impatient.</p><p>Her little car was rolling across the intersection when the vehicle behind her rammed into the trunk. Yukie yelled in indignant surprise—surprised which quickly melted into terror when her foot stomped on the pedal with the motion, sending her car sprawling forward.</p><p>"Oh my god!" she screeched, slamming the brakes.</p><p>But it was too late.</p><p>Yukie winced at the sound of metal crumpling in itself. The seat-belt dug into her neck, but she was otherwise fine. "That jerk!" Yukie cursed once the colour had returned to her cheeks. She removed her seat-belt and stumbled outside, glowering at back of the sleek black sports car that was rounding the corner. It disappeared before she could catch the number plate. <em>I can't believe he just rear-ended me like that! </em>But, alas, Yukie had another problem to deal with.</p><p>Namely, the man who had stepped out of his vehicle to gawk at the destruction that the collision had caused unto his ute. Truly, Yukie was bemused that a small car like hers had ripped through the back fender and more of the man's truck.</p><p>"You!" The man pointed a finger at her as he shouted, his cap falling from his head to reveal black hair. His accent was aggressively Kansai, which led her to believe that he hailed from somewhere more rural. "You—I—I can't believe you've done this!"</p><p>"It wasn't my fault!" Yukie protested. <em>Actually, it sorta was, but I'm also a victim here! </em>"Some—some guy just—he hit me! And then he drove off! And—I ran into you, but it was an accident!"</p><p>"This is a family car!" the man stressed, passing one hand through his hair frantically.</p><p><em>What, did it pass down from generation to generation? </em>Yukie eyed the ute critically. Now that she got a closer look, it was a heap of junk on wheels. No wonder it had come apart so easily. She sighed, fiddling with the hem of her hoodie. "Look, mister, I'm sorry. But I don't know how to help you except give you a ride home."</p><p>"Oh, no, yer not gettin' off <em>that</em> easily," he growled. "Gimme yer insurance provider."</p><p>
  <em>Insurance?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Ah.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Crap.</em>
</p><p>"Well, you see—"</p><p>"Ya don't have insurance," the young man concluded, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Goddammit. Please tell me yer kiddin'. City slickers don't have any sense, do they?"</p><p>Yukie pressed her mouth into a thin line. He had all rights to be furious at her, but she wouldn't take that lying down! "Watch your mouth, <em>buddy</em>. It was an <em>accident</em>. And I don't have the money for insurance! Can't you contact your own insurance provider?"</p><p>"I don't have insurance either!" he yelled, cheeks flushing in embarrassment.</p><p>"Huh?! Who's the one without any sense now?! Hypocrite!"</p><p>He glared daggers at her. "I have enough of my wits about ta know that ain't nothin' gonna be solved if we just shout at each other in the middle of the road!"</p><p>"Good! Me too!"</p><p>"Well, I'm glad that's settled! So why are you still yellin' at me?"</p><p>"Because you're yelling at me!" Good grief! Yukie ogled him in disbelief. This man was utterly incorrigible. "Okay, look. What do you want from me?"</p><p>"My car in a fully functional state."</p><p>Yukie peered around him at the ute. <em>It doesn't look like it's been fully functional in years, </em>she thought rather meanly. But another part of her felt a strange pity for the run-down vehicle and the frustrated young man who seemed to love it so. Whether she had completely been in the wrong or not didn't matter at this point—the jerkass who had bumped her forward was gone and now she had to do something about this mess. "I don't have any money," she admitted. "I have rent to pay and I'm still in college."</p><p>"So that's it?" He didn't sound angry anymore, just miserable. "I'm not exactly rollin' in dough, either..."</p><p>"I'll write up an IOU?" Yukie suggested, tentative about her own idea. She pulled a notepad and pen from the back pocket of her jeans—she normally kept them there to take down notes during her dining experiences. When he didn't say anything, she wrote down her name, email address, and phone number. Then she tore the paper from the pad and handed it to him. "Here."</p><p>Listlessly, he took it. "Shirofuku Yukie...?" he mumbled. His eyes popped wide. "Are you...?! Are you Bon Vivant?!"</p><p>"Eh? You know me?" <em>I can't believe he connected me to my food blog. </em>Yukie beamed. "Indeed I am. Don't tell me you're a fan."</p><p>"I've read all yer reviews," the man confessed, the redness in his cheeks reaching his ears. "Yer... an inspiration..." He deadpanned at her. "But then I find out what yer really like... I guess this is what they mean when they say to never meet yer heroes, huh..."</p><p>"I resent that remark, sir. You know my name, so what's yours?"</p><p>Instead of answering, he picked up the broken plate housing of his aluminium ute tray. In paint, it read <em>Onigiri Miya</em>.</p><p>"Your parents named you Onigiri?" Yukie blinked owlishly.</p><p>He snorted. "As if. The name's Miya Osamu. I have a proposition for ya."</p><p>"Hmm?" Yukie tilted her head. "And what's that?" <em>It better not be anything sleazy. </em>She would not hesitate to call the police if he was trying to solicit her for something shady.</p><p>"In exchange for all <em>that</em>," Osamu gestured to his damaged vehicle, "You'll be my taste tester!"</p><p>How interesting. "Is <em>Onigiri Miya</em> the name of your restaurant, then?"</p><p>"It will be," Osamu said, vehemently. "I'm still setting everything up and it's not officially open yet... Which means the menu isn't set in stone. I trust yer reviews. They're the best in Osaka. Tell me what's good and what I need to work on. It's the least ya owe me."</p><p>Yukie held up a hand. "Let me get this straight. All I have to do... is eat?"</p><p>"Yep." Osamu folded his arms across his chest, glancing down at her. He was over a head taller than her. How unfair. "And you'll help around the shop, too." Osamu stuck his hand out. "Do we have a deal?"</p><p><em>This is too good to be true! </em>Yukie worried the inside of her cheek. Osamu seemed very earnest to begin their partnership, not a single sign of deceit to be spotted. Either he was an excellent liar or he was being completely genuine with his intentions. "And by 'help', you mean...?"</p><p>"Helping me clean, set up, and finalise the menu."</p><p>"And that's all?"</p><p>"That's all," Osamu promised.</p><p>Yukie hummed, considering the offer. <em>Ah, what the heck? </em>"Deal." She shook his hand.</p><p>Osamu grinned and she found it harder and harder to believe that he was trying to pull the wool over her eyes somehow. "Great. Let's exchange numbers—we'll start tomorrow!"</p><p>Amused, Yukie agreed.</p><p>She wondered what Miya Osamu had in store for her.</p><p>Regardless, Kaori was going to freak out for sure.</p>
<hr/><p>
  <strong>
    <em>A/N: Car insurance is actually compulsory in Japan but I pretend I do not see.</em>
  </strong>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Do Meet Your Heroes</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Miya Osamu was faced with a dilemma and a deal.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Ma. Dad. Can we talk?"</p><p>Osamu watched his father, Hozumi, peer up from his newspaper, glasses slipping from his nose. Then the man folded his newspaper, set it aside, and took a swig of the fresh orange juice that his wife had squeezed for him. At the kitchen sink, his mother, Akari, glanced over her shoulder. She turned the tap off, removed her rubber gloves, and pulled a chair up next to Hozumi.</p><p>"Of course," Akari said, pulling her hair back into a ponytail. "What is it, Osamu?"</p><p>While Osamu had never been as noisy as his twin, Atsumu, he was usually never afraid to speak his mind. But now, sitting opposite his parents—conventional, financially stable, and easing into their retirement years—his hands grew clammy and his voice became trapped in his chest. <em>Calm down, </em>he coached himself. <em>You can do this. Just tell 'em. No mincin' words. </em>"I ain't goin' ta college."</p><p>A crease appeared in Akari's brow but Hozumi nodded, understanding. "I figured. Yer grades were never really the best anyway. Yer goin' pro like yer brother, ain'tcha? Found a team yet?"</p><p>The knot in his stomach twisted tighter. "Ah, about that... I've decided not ta do volleyball after high school."</p><p>"Oh my." Akari lifted a hand to her mouth. "Does Atsumu know?"</p><p>He did, as a matter of fact. Had even thrown hands with him in the middle of the gym, grappling and screaming and spitting. Suna had the video evidence to prove it. Atsumu was now MSBY Black Jackal's newest (and shiniest) member, while Osamu...</p><p><em>I haven't just been sittin' on my ass all year. </em>No—he'd been making plans. As soon as he graduated high school, he had begun taking the first steps toward his dream: Opening and running a restaurant. He would bring all the homely, traditional flavors of his hometown to the big city of Osaka and make them sing. Already, the menu and the shop ambiance was in development.</p><p>"'Tsumu knows," Osamu confirmed. It had taken him a while to come around but Atsumu was now fully supportive of Osamu's decision. It was a relief, actually, knowing that Atsumu had his back like he always did—Osamu wouldn't know what to do without him.</p><p>"Are you going to get a job, then?" Akari pressed. "It's not impossible to get something high-earning without a formal college education. I entered the workforce with only a high school diploma and now I'm an accountant."</p><p>"I could introduce you to a few of my colleagues," mused Hozumi, a contract manager.</p><p>Osamu shook his head. "No, I... I'm gonna open a restaurant."</p><p>It went so quiet that Osamu would be able to hear a pin drop. He gulped, gauging the reactions of his mother and father. Neither of them looked particularly pleased, their expressions one of thinly veiled concern and disappointment.</p><p>"Osamu, please," Akari started. "Be serious."</p><p>"I <em>am</em> being serious."</p><p>"Do you know how difficult and expensive it is to run a business? It's not an easy road."</p><p>Maybe not, but Osamu stubbornly wanted to take it anyway. Even if it made the soles of his feet erupt into welts, he would trudge forth. "Ma, I know ya don't think I'm ready, but—"</p><p>"You're not ready at all!"</p><p>"—I can do it."</p><p>Akari whipped around to her husband. "Hozumi, <em>please</em> talk some sense into our boy."</p><p>"The road less taken is that for a reason," Hozumi warned Osamu. "We stayed quiet when you and Atsumu decided not to attend university. But I think we have to draw the line here."</p><p>Osamu's temper flared. "This ain't yer call to make. It's <em>mine</em>."</p><p>"You'll get yerself into trouble."</p><p>"You're not even giving me a chance!"</p><p>Akari grimaced. "Honey, please. We only want what's best for you. Opening a business... It's simply not sustainable. You'll be fretting over bills for the rest of your life."</p><p>"That'll be my problem," Osamu insisted.</p><p>As Osamu and Akari argued, Hozumi gazed at his wife and son, scrutinising. Then, slowly, he asked, "Osamu, why did ya really come ta us? Knowing ya, ya could've just up and left to go do yer own thing."</p><p>It seemed his father had caught on. Osamu fidgeted, gut clenching. There was no easy way to put this, but in order for him to even have a chance in the food industry world, he would need—</p><p>"Money," Hozumi realised. "Ya need money, don'tcha?"</p><p>Osamu bowed his head. "Yeah. I do. But just for a little while! Until I have a steady source of income. Then I'll pay everything back—I <em>promise</em>."</p><p>"We refuse," Akari declined immediately. "We won't fund... whatever this is. What if it's just some phase that you'll regret? Osamu—either get a job or start studying for the next university entrance exams. I mean it, young man."</p><p>"I'm sorry, son, but I agree with yer mother."</p><p>Osamu blanched. "I—I found a cheap place to rent out in Osaka. I won't need that much. Just please let me—"</p><p>"<em>No</em>."</p><p>He could hear his heart pulsing between his ears as disappointment formed a rock in his stomach. The part-time jobs he had taken over the past year ensured that he had an ample amount of savings, but nowhere near enough for the lease.</p><p>The sound of a door creaking. Slippers slapped against the tiled kitchen floor; Atsumu whistled an obnoxious tune as he sauntered up to the counter to pour himself some water. He was side-eyeing the fridge—he probably intended to eat more of Osamu's pudding when he thought nobody was looking.</p><p>"So," Atsumu began, bleached blond hair glittering obnoxiously under the ceiling light. "I couldn't help but overhear."</p><p><em>As if, </em>thought Osamu. Atsumu had probably been eavesdropping from the hallway the whole time.</p><p>Before anyone could tell him to stay out of it, Atsumu took his glass of water and sat down beside Osamu. "You so owe me a pack of pudding," he muttered under his breath. To their parents, he said, "Ma, dad, I think yer bein' a lil' too hasty with 'Samu."</p><p>Akari pursed her lips. "How so?"</p><p>Of course their mother would be more willing to listen to Atsumu. His twin had a job and was successful. <em>Leave it up to 'Tsumu to make money by doin' what he loves. </em>They would be in the same boat if Akari and Hozumi would just give him a chance.</p><p>"'Samu's stubborn," Atsumu said, bluntly. "He's not gonna give up on his dream of feedin' the world. He's got the drive and the determination to pull it off—trust me when I say that there's no better guy out there for this sort of thing."</p><p>"'Tsumu'?" said Osamu, incredulously. He was unable to decide if this was sweet or totally gross.</p><p>"<em>And</em> his cookin's the best," his blond twin continued, undeterred. "No one in the prefecture could hold a candle to his cookin'! 'Samu could be Japan's next success story if you guys would just give him a lil' moolah. I know we're rich enough for it. Plenty of wiggle room."</p><p>Their parents exchanged a glance.</p><p>"I don't know," Akari said, sighing.</p><p>"Aw, come on, ma. Dad," Atsumu pleaded with Hozumi instead, "You like contracts, don'tcha? I mean, it's in yer job description."</p><p>Hozumi cocked a brow. "Atsumu, I ain't entirely sure that ya know what a 'contract manager' does."</p><p>Atsumu ignored that statement. "Why don't we cut a deal?"</p><p>"What?" everyone else echoed.</p><p>"What deal?" hissed Osamu. "'Tsumu, don't just randomly make deals on my behalf!"</p><p>"<em>Relax</em>, 'Samu. I know what I'm doin'. Mostly."</p><p>"A deal, hm?" Akari tapped her fingernails on the tabletop. They clacked. "You boys have me interested now. What kind of deal are ya talkin' about, exactly?"</p><p>Atsumu lifted a finger. "Pretty simple. You give 'Samu the money he needs to open his business. If he succeeds, he'll keep doin' it until he's all old and grey. If he fails..." His eyes gleamed. "He'll do whatever ya want him to do. Uni, job, whatever."</p><p>That... Osamu blinked. That wasn't a bad idea at all, actually. He applauded Atsumu for coming up with such an idea. The consequences were dire, but fair enough to edge his parents into agreement.</p><p>At first, Akari and Hozumi said nothing. They simply stared at each other, as if communicating with a weird parent telepathy.</p><p>"Deal," Hozumi said, eventually. "But only with time constraints."</p><p>Osamu hurriedly complied. "I can work with that."</p><p>"Good. We'll give you one year, starting from tomorrow." Hozumi looked Osamu in the eye. "You still wanna go through with this?"</p><p>Firmly, Osamu nodded. "Yes."</p><p>"Then it looks like we have ourselves a deal."</p><p>The handshake he shared with his father was heavy but freeing.</p><p>Osamu was numb as he shuffled back to his shared bedroom with Atsumu. The latter was in the middle of moving out to an MSBY apartment complex in Osaka. Osamu stepped around a box that would've broken his big toe had he walked into it. "I can't believe it," he said as Atsumu padded behind him with a cup of pudding in hand. "I can't believe ya did it, you crazy bastard."</p><p>Atsumu laughed airily. "Now, now, now, I know I'm great and all—"</p><p>"Annnd ya ruined it." Osamu closed his laptop and started making a mental list of things he would pack. There was no time to waste—a year was barely enough to do everything he needed and wanted to do.</p><p>"Wow, thanks for the gratitude, 'Samu. Really feelin' the love here."</p><p>Osamu chucked a sock at him. "But seriously." He turned away so Atsumu wouldn't be able to see him shame-faced. "Thanks..."</p><p>"It's no problem," Atsumu's voice sounded behind him. "To be honest, ma and dad were kinda annoyin' me with all their trash talk."</p><p>"So you <em>were</em> listening."</p><p>"Duh."</p><p>Osamu smiled as he packed his bags. He would not let his opportunity go to waste.</p><hr/><p>The lease was signed and the empty shop was his. His landlord, Itabashi, wished him luck on his endeavors and went up on his way. It was a cozy little shop on a street corner—the restaurant was downstairs while Osamu's studio apartment was a floor above it. Using the key the landlord had given him, he went into his apartment and unpacked his things. Osamu hadn't brought much along with him—most of his belongings were still at his parents' house—but he had all he needed to live a casual life for the next few months or so.</p><p>Atsumu called before he could.</p><p>In the middle of arranging his toiletries in the bathroom, Osamu picked up and held the phone between his cheek and shoulder. "Yo."</p><p><em>"Oi, 'Samu! Ya said you'd call!"</em> Atsumu's voice blasted in his ear. <em>"So how come I hafta be the one ta ring?"</em></p><p>"Calm down, 'Tsumu. I had things to do, but I'm free for now."</p><p><em>"For now?"</em> parroted Atsumu from the other end. <em>"It's only the first day—you could kick back a lil' more, ya know."</em></p><p>Osamu scoffed. "I don't have time. After I finish unpacking, I'm gonna be picking up some cooking supplies." The industrial kind—he wouldn't be able to run his restaurant using his mother's pots and pans.</p><p>
  <em>"How's the truck?"</em>
</p><p>Ah, the family truck.</p><p>It had belonged to his paternal grandparents, who had passed it on to Hozumi. Hozumi had no use for it, though, and it had spent the last decade or so collecting dust in the garage.</p><p>"Somehow still running." Despite his words, Osamu couldn't even bring himself to feel derision toward the rusty ute. An ancient dinosaur of a vehicle it may have been, but he had grown somewhat fond of it. Just him and the truck in the big city of Osaka. He would surely grow to rely on it in the future.</p><p>Atsumu chuckled. <em>"Don't let it die on ya. Wouldn't want ya to be stuck in the middle of nowhere."</em></p><p>"Yeah, yeah, I know." Exiting the bathroom, Osamu got a grip on his phone. Noticing the time, he said, "Hey, I gotta go now. The warehouse is at least forty minutes from here and I'm still not done."</p><p>
  <em>"Tell me how it goes!"</em>
</p><p>"Mm."</p><p>The journey was smooth and the supplier was nice. Osamu enjoyed speaking with him and was beyond grateful when the older man offered to help him haul his equipment into the ute tray. They said their farewells, Osamu promising to give him and his family a hearty discount if they ever dropped by. Things were getting off to a great start for his restaurant.</p><p>He got into his truck, sticking the keys in ignition but not twisting just yet. Instead, he opened up his phone to read a new review posted on Bon Vivant's blog. It had been uploaded yesterday, but he hadn't been able to read it, too caught up with stuffing everything important into a single suitcase.</p><p>It wasn't anything too special—a new pizza store that had opened up in Konohana Ward. It had gotten a two star review, unfortunately for the business owners, and Bon Vivant had pointed out that they were relying too much on the flow of patrons that the nearby Universal Studios Japan was drawing in and not focusing enough on the quality of their food.</p><p>A chill went down his spine. <em>Bon Vivant could come into my restaurant at any time and I wouldn't even know it... Shit, then I'd really be over.</em> There were no pictures of her face on the internet—the only information attached to the handle being that her name was Shirofuku Yukie. When it came to food in Osaka, Bon Vivant's word was the gospel. High-brow critics and members of the general public alike praised her for her honest, succinct descriptions and analyses. There were naysayers that sought to denounce her, of course, as there always were, but Bon Vivant remained highly popular and highly trusted.</p><p>Osamu's brows rose when he noticed a new post on her blog—it had been posted just fifty-seven seconds ago. It was an update on her life rather than a review—she sometimes posted those, but they were few and far in-between. He liked it, thought—liked hearing about the mundane details of her life through mini snippets.</p><p>
  <em>I wonder what she's been up to.</em>
</p><p>He found out soon enough.</p><p>
  <strong>Chill Day</strong>
</p><p>The first semester has begun! A ton of promising food stands popped up for orientation week and I can't wait to try them all out. Plus Kaori-chan is treating me to bqq tonite so yay :3</p><p>
  <em>12 comments</em>
</p><p>A small smile quirked his lips up. It seemed Bon Vivant was having fun.</p><p>He clicked his phone off and started up his truck. The drive back home was mostly uneventful. He was only a few buildings away from his new home when he found himself stuck in traffic. To pass the time, Osamu memorised the buildings on the street. It was as metropolitan as it could get—the only interesting place was what Osamu swore had to be a secret gay bar from the nondescript decoration and the amount of male couples heading inside. Maybe they thought they were being slick with passing off as good friends, but Osamu could tell by their body language. He had, after all, grown up with Atsumu, and it was no secret that his brother had a preference for men.</p><p>The cars began to move forward.</p><p><em>I should head down to Lawson's to shop for tonight's ingredients,</em> Osamu thought, already planning ahead for tonight's dinner. He didn't want to eat out—he could whip up anything better than takeout, anyway. <em>What do I need? Soy sauce, garlic, spring onion</em>—</p><p>Osamu cried out when something sent him sprawling forward, chest against the wheel, and snapping back against the headrest. He had heard a crunch sounding from behind. "Oh, fuck," he swore. <em>Did I just get hit?! </em>Urgently, he removed his seat belt and hobbled outside, his legs feeling weak from the impact. "Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no!"</p><p>The back of the ute was completely destroyed. Luckily, the supplies were untouched, but the truck! The family truck!</p><p>This could <em>not</em> be happening.</p><p>Shaking with fury, he round on the young woman who had gotten out of her car. The very same car that had rear-ended his poor truck. She appeared to be staring at another car driving off before his presence drew her attention. "You!" She opened her mouth, perhaps to protest, but he didn't let her talk. "You—I—I can't believe you've done this!" He wanted to cuss her out but the politeness his parents and teachers had drilled into him won out.</p><p>"It wasn't my fault!" she had the audacity to say. "Some—some guy just—he hit me! And then he drove off! And—I ran into you, but it was an accident!"</p><p>Maybe she was lying, or maybe she wasn't, but Osamu didn't care. Didn't care about some random—only cared about the petite lady standing in front of him with her chest puffed out in indignation.</p><p>Osamu ran his fingers through his hair, gripping his locks until his head hurt. "This is a family car!"</p><p>The woman gazed at the car, almost dismissively. He could understand why she would make such a face—the ute was a bit of a dump, after all—but she absolutely no right. None at all! Only Osamu could look at his vehicle like this!</p><p>"Look, mister," she said. "I'm sorry. But I don't know how to help you except give you a ride home."</p><p>"Oh, no, yer not gettin' off that easily. Gimme yer insurance provider."</p><p>She winced, one hand fiddling with a strand of reddish-brown hair that fell over her mien. "Well, you see—"</p><p>"Ya don't have insurance," finished Osamu, feeling as if he were on the verge of bursting a vein. Anger getting the better of him, he added, rather cruelly, "Goddammit. Please tell me yer kiddin'. City slickers don't have any sense, do they?" Her accent told him all he needed to know about her.</p><p>She didn't take too kindly to his jab. "Watch your mouth, buddy. It was an accident. And I don't have the money for insurance! Can't you contact your own insurance provider?"</p><p>"I don't have insurance either!"</p><p>"Huh?! Who's the one without any sense now?! Hypocrite!"</p><p>His cheeks were growing hot. "I have enough of my wits about ta know that ain't nothin' gonna be solved if we just shout at each other in the middle of the road!"</p><p>"Good! Me too!"</p><p>"Well, I'm glad that's settled! So why are you still yellin' at me?"</p><p>"Because you're yelling at me!" She had a point. "Okay, look. What do you want from me?"</p><p>"My car in a fully functional state," Osamu deadpanned.</p><p>Again, she glanced at the ute. Then she opened her mouth again to tell him she had no money, and his head began to pound from how screwed he knew he was. Despair gripped him. He could already hear the tutting and see the pinch of his parents' brows. Day one on his own and he had ended up in this situation. Unbelievable. He couldn't let them know. Ever. They would hold it against him forever and he already had so much on his plate trying to start a business from scratch by himself. Sulkily, he said, "So that's it? I'm not exactly rollin' in dough either..."</p><p>She suggested an IOU.</p><p>Osamu was beginning to think that she was stupid.</p><p>He could only stand and watch, stewing in his own misery, as she wrote down her details. He took the paper from her, his arm feeling like a stone. "Shirofuku Yukie...?" <em>Wait... It can't be! Can it?! </em>Eyes widening, he stared at her. "Are you...?! Are you Bon Vivant?!"</p><p>Bon Vivant was a female college student. Her name was Shirofuku Yukie.</p><p>This woman—name <em>also</em> Shirofuku Yukie—fit the profile. Osamu had expected her to be fatter, though, with how much she went out to eat. But she was as petite as the average Japanese girl.</p><p>"Eh, you know me?" Oh, god, it really <em>was</em> her. Osamu swayed on his feet. "Indeed I am. Don't tell me you're a fan."</p><p>"I've read all yer reviews," Osamu told her. "Yer... an inspiration..." He glared. "But then I find out what yer really like... I guess this is what they mean when they say to never meet yer heroes, huh..."</p><p>Yukie harrumphed. "I resent that remark, sir. You know my name, so what's yours?"</p><p>Feeling quite petty, Osamu picked up the broken plate housing of his ute tray. He had painted the name of his shop onto the metal last night and it still smelled of fresh paint.</p><p>Yukie inched forward, examining it. "Your parents named you Onigiri?"</p><p>"As if," Osamu snorted, "The name's Miya Osamu." And before he could even think it through properly, he said, swiftly, "I have a proposition for ya."</p><p>"Hmm? And what's that?" She was suspicious. He could tell. But no matter—he didn't have anything to hide. Osamu was a terrible liar, anyway—all the inclination for telling untruths had gone to Atsumu, who lied as readily as he breathed.</p><p>"In exchange for all <em>that</em>," he jabbed a thumb at his ute, "You'll be my taste tester!"</p><p>"Is Onigiri Miya the name of your restaurant, then?"</p><p>"It will be," Osamu proclaimed. "I'm still setting everything up and it's not officially open yet... Which means the menu isn't set in stone. I trust yer reviews. They're the best in Osaka. Tell me what's good and what I need to work on. It's the least ya owe me." If he got Bon Vivant whispering advice in his ear... Yes, there was no way he would fail! This accident may have been a blessing from the gods in disguise!</p><p>His imagination wandering, he saw himself standing—in a stylish head chef's outfit—in a brightly lit restaurant—packed with customers and staff—and his parents kowtowing at his feet. "We were wrong," his parents said as they begged his shiny shoes for forgiveness. Osamu just clinked his champagne flute against Atsumu's before turning his back on them and leaving them to kiss the floor he walked on. <em>Hehehe...</em></p><p>"Let me get this straight," Yukie interrupted his train of thought, "All I have to do... is eat?"</p><p>"Yep. And you'll help around the shop, too." Osamu reached his hand out. "Do we have a deal?"</p><p>He could practically see the gears in her head turning. "And by 'help', you mean...?"</p><p>Really, Osamu was almost offended. "Helping me clean, set up, and finalise the menu."</p><p>"And that's all?"</p><p>"That's all."</p><p>She shook his hand. "Deal."</p><p>Osamu beamed. <em>Score! </em>"Great. Let's exchange numbers—we'll start tomorrow!"</p><p>"Sure."</p><p>He couldn't <em>wait</em>.</p><p>Shirofuku Yukie would be his ticket to success.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>A/N: Osamu POV and the events that led him here.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>